In The End
by DeiStarr
Summary: Harry learns how to live while dying, with Draco's help. And however hard he fights his attraction to Draco, he eventually learns how to love from him, too. Harry/Draco slash. Boy love. Gay romance. Maybe tragedy; potential major character death. IF it occurs there WILL be an alternate ending. Severitus. MPreg. Dark!Harry. Father-Figure!Lupin.
1. Prologue

**Title:** In The End

**Chapter: **Prologue

**Pairings: **Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, (past) Sirius/Remus, Severus/Remus, others TBD

**Rating: **NC-17

**Warnings:** Violence, Gay Sex, and Potential Major Character Death. Oh, and MPreg.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter universe or any of the characters. I like to do things with them that would probably make Jo blush.

**Summary:** Harry learns how to live while dying, with Draco's help. And however hard he fights his attraction to Draco, he eventually learns how to love from him, too.

**A/N: **I haven't decided how to end this story yet. I don't know if it will be a tragedy, where Harry dies, or one where Harry is cured. IF he dies, I WILL write an alternate ending. Because I've promised myself never to write a story without a happy ending!

Also, this story will be updated infrequently. I have too many stories on the go atm, so I'm going to continue focusing on my older MC's for the most part, and only give my complete attention to this one once one or two of the others have been completed.

* * *

**In The End**

* * *

_I tried so hard  
And got so far  
But in the end  
It doesn't even matter  
I had to fall  
To lose it all  
But in the end  
It doesn't even matter_

_In The End – Linkin Park_

* * *

Harry spent the summer after fifth year in a deep depression; angry and bitter, filled with guilt and self-loathing. He read his textbooks obsessively until he had nearly memorised them.

He owl-ordered several texts on Occlumency from _Florish and Blotts_, and studied until his mind was closed up tighter than a steel drum. It was a relief not to have to deal with the dreams, or Voldemort's emotions pouring through their link.

He was a very different person at the end of the summer.

His sixth year was difficult at best.

He returned to Hogwarts subdued; depressed and angry. He withdrew from everyone, afraid to be close to anyone in case Voldemort decided to use them against him the way he had with Sirius.

He informed Professor Dumbledore after the Welcoming Feast that he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

"Unless it pertains to school, sir, I have no interest in speaking to you."

Professor Dumbledore tried many different times and different ways to change his mind, to no avail. He kept his head down, kept to himself, and outstripped Hermione in school. Apparently memorising the textbooks could pay off – who knew?

He used his invisibility cloak every night to sneak into the restricted section and read until the words blurred together on the page. He researched Dark Magic, searching for something that might help him defeat Voldemort.

He learned nasty and illegal curses that he would practice in the Shrieking Shack, away from prying eyes and the Hogwarts wards that would alert Dumbledore if any Dark Magic was performed in the school.

If he met a Death Eater again, he could give them a taste of their own medicine. There was no way he'd attempt to disarm or disable them with harmless spells like _Stupefy_.

It wasn't until Dumbledore approached Harry with three new offers that he decided to accept, and go back under the old man's guidance. He kept his mind tightly closed around the Headmaster, however, as he had no intention of letting the man know about his forays into the world of Dark Magic.

The offers Dumbledore made him were membership in the Order, complete disclosure, and regular training to equip him to fight Death Eaters on more even ground. His teachers were Remus, Snape, Moody, and Dumbledore himself.

One would think, with his classes, his training, and his extracurricular activities, that he would have no time for anything else. Yet for some reason he had become obsessed with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy had returned to sixth year as quiet and withdrawn as Harry himself. His father was in Azkaban, his family disgraced, and his mother had filed for a divorce. The last was a rumour floating around the school, based on articles in the Prophet; but since Malfoy never said anything to refute them there seemed to be some truth to them.

Malfoy, the boy who had always boasted about his father constantly, never breathed a word about him now.

Perhaps the most telling indication of the truth of those rumours was the induction of Narcissa Malfoy as an Order member. She swore that she and her son were committed to fighting on the right side, that she'd finally managed to bar her insane sister – along with any other Death Eaters – from the Manor, and she eagerly began the process of reuniting with her other, estranged sister.

Harry watched him every chance he got. He told himself it was because he needed to keep an eye on the Slytherin, to determine whether he was following in his father's footsteps or not; but that didn't explain why he kept _noticing_ things about him. Irrelevant things, like how his hair fell about his face now that he'd stopped gelling it back, or how the lines of his face weren't so much pointy as aristocratic, or just how _grey_ his eyes were. How fit he was.

And Harry most certainly never had erotic dreams that just might have featured a tall, fit blond with grey eyes. After all, Harry wasn't even gay.

Harry had always hated the attention of the public; now, between the desperate attempts by various publications to interview him, the Ministry – which was no longer headed by Fudge, but by a former Auror named Rufus Scrimgeour – hounding him to endorse them to increase the faith of the public in them, and the constant stream of letters from the public, Harry began daydreaming about becoming a hermit.

Voldemort kept busy that year; killings increased and people were terrified. Dark Marks appeared in the sky all over as muggles, wizards, and witches alike were brutally murdered.

Harry threw himself into his studies with fervor. He learned as much as he could for as long as he could, and by the end of his sixth year could best or at least match all of his teachers. It was as if he'd had an untapped reservoir of power within himself that he'd never been able – or perhaps motivated enough – to access before.

When he returned to the Dursley's the summer before his seventh year, he was determined to end things, once and for all. With nothing else to do with his time but complete the mindless tasks the Dursleys set him, his mind was constantly whirring, plotting.

He needed a way to defeat Voldemort for good. But with all the Dark and Light Magic he'd been taught, there was no sure way to guarantee he could complete the task.

Except one.

In a dusty, hidden book in the furthest section of the Restricted Section, heavily warded with curses, he'd discovered a thin book. It discussed a theoretical spell that could destroy all life within a certain radius of its casting. It remained theoretical only because no one was suicidal enough to attempt it, as it destroyed the caster.

Within the boundaries of its casting, nothing could survive.

Harry had less regard for his life than he'd once had, and he figured that killing Voldemort was something worth dying for.

So it was that Harry came up with a plan.

The Order had plans to move him, as the protection of the Blood Wards on the Dursleys house would fall when he turned seventeen. They spirited away the Dursleys a week prior, hiding them away where they'd be safe.

Harry was to be moved the day before his birthday.

The same night as the Dursleys left, Harry released Hedwig, telling her to fly to Hogwarts and stay there. Then he took his wand, a pack filled with food and water bottles, and slipped out of the house under his invisibility cloak. He ran as fast and as far as he could before he was finally forced to stop and rest.

He curled up under a bush and slept under the cloak.

He continued travelling invisible until he reached London. He turned seventeen the day before he reached the city. Having given a lot of thought to the fastest way to be caught by Death Eaters, he lit upon the plan to visit Knockturn Alley.

He entered Diagon Alley invisible, and made his way to Knockturn. It was in an alley beside Borgin and Burkes that he slid off the cloak; stuffing it into his now-empty pack and stepping back out into Knockturn. He brushed the hair off his forehead and walked through the street, head held high, scar clearly displayed.

He might as well have been wearing a neon sign.

Sure enough, Death Eaters arrived to capture him. He was ready.

He put up a good fight. He may have wanted to be captured, but he had no intention of making it easy for them and wanted to take as many of them down as possible beforehand.

They weren't expecting him to be so skilled. They certainly weren't expecting him to use Dark Magic.

Killing them was much easier than Harry had thought it would be. He felt almost detached; clinical as he took life after life.

He killed five, wounded seven badly enough that they were down and helpless, but finally they managed to stun him.

He woke up bound and silenced in a dungeon somewhere. The Death Eater who _Enervated_ him sneered as he levitated Harry along through the corridors until they reached a wide stone chamber, swarming with Death Eaters in full regalia. Seated on a high stone throne at the head of the room was Voldemort.

"Harry Potter," he hissed, as Harry was dropped unceremoniously in the center of the room, in the center of the circle of Death Eaters.

"The Boy-Who-Lived." Voldemort sneered, and Harry thought how odd it looked without a nose. The thought that Malfoy's sneer was infinitely more attractive skittered across his brain almost too fast for him to register it.

"I have solved the problem of our wands," continued Voldemort, smiling cruelly. "I have a new wand; one that has bonded to me exceedingly well, and will not interact with yours the same way."

He rose and prowled towards Harry. "Today, I will finish you. Release him, and give him his wand!"

Harry found himself free and able to speak again. He caught the wand that was tossed in his direction with deft seeker skills. He rolled it between his fingers, meeting Voldemort's stare coolly.

"Hello, Tom," he said, smirking a little. "Still haven't realised who's the better wizard?"

Voldemort growled, and raised his wand. Harry cast a special, Dark shield charm that would encompass his body and follow him as he moved. He dodged and rolled away as Voldemort shot a Killing Curse at him.

He fired off several Dark spells at the other wizard, none of which would stop him, but were sufficient to incapacitate him for a few precious minutes. They made contact only because Voldemort was thrown off-balance by his use of Dark Arts.

As soon as Voldemort was occupied, he ran for the one place in the room that provided shelter – the throne. He ducked behind it and began chanting, moving his wand in the intricate and precise patterns he needed to perform the spell.

Just as Voldmort blasted the chair out of the way, he finished the spell.

A blaze of white light shot from his magical core, bursting from every pore of his body, shooting out in a wide circle that encompassed the entire room, moving outside. Every person it touched dropped.

Harry knew from the research that not even a blade of grass would survive.

Voldemort gasped, and fell to his knees, choking. His face went slack and he dropped to the ground where he lay still.

That was the last thing Harry saw before he too succumbed, and his world went black.

* * *

When Harry woke in St. Mungo's, he was confused. _I'm supposed to be dead. _He sat up and looked around.

The door opened a couple of moments later, and a Healer dressed in lime-green robes entered. "Mr. Potter," he said, with a respectful nod that Harry returned. "My name is Healer Morgan."

"Hello," he said a trifle awkwardly. "Er, can you tell me why I'm here?"

The Healer blinked, then smiled. "You defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," he said. "There was a powerful burst of Dark Magic so strong that the Ministry was aware of it, and sent a team of Aurors out to investigate. They found you in a house on one of the old Black properties, in the basement. You were lying unconscious, surrounded by dead Death Eaters. You-Know-Who was lying there as well, quite dead."

He shook his head. "The papers have been having a field day all week, and there are still people dancing in the streets. Everyone wants to know how you did it."

Harry looked away. The spell would be catastrophic in the wrong hands. He couldn't afford to let anyone know. "I can't say." He turned back to the Healer. "I have to say I'm surprised, though. I wasn't meant to survive that."

The Healer looked momentarily shocked. A flash of sadness crossed his features before he schooled them into a more neutral expression. "I'm afraid that's a matter of opinion, Mr. Potter."

Harry tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

The Healer grimaced. "You've suffered an intense exposure to radiation, Mr. Potter." He cleared his throat. "We've done the best we can, but you have severe radiation poisoning."

Harry nodded slowly, not understanding.

"We've slowed it down, and if you follow our potion regimen every day, and come in for regular checkups, you'll have a year left; maybe two. But that's the most we can do for you." The Healer looked so apologetic that Harry felt bad for the man.

He nodded. He wasn't sure what to say. Being told that you're dying should perhaps be more shocking, but he still hadn't adjusted to the fact that he was still _alive_, so it was less disconcerting than it ought to have been.

"I'm afraid it will be quite painful, towards the end." Healer Morgan winced.

"I'm not afraid of pain," Harry answered.

A sudden thought struck him. If his friends and the Order members had been told, he would be coddled and fretted over until he looked forward to dying. The thought made him so weary.

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

The Healer shook his head. "Since you're of age, you no longer have a legal guardian. Since you have no family, there was no one we could inform of your condition without your consent without violating our Oath."

Harry smiled weakly. "Good." He shuddered. "Don't tell anyone. I don't want the hassle yet."

The Healer raised his eyebrows, but nodded. "Are you ready for visitors? You have quite a few."

Harry shook his head. "I need to be alone with my thought for a while, first."

The Healer nodded sympathetically. "I understand. Just let me know if you need anything or decide you want to let them in."

Harry thanked him, then sank back onto the pillows as the man left. He stared at the ceiling.

_I'm dying. I have a year left; maybe two._

Then, _What on earth am I going to do for a year?_


	2. Chapter 2 - Darkness Rising

**Chapter One:** Darkness Rising

**Disclaimer:** J. created the Harry Potter universe. That said, there are a number of things I want to change about it. Starting with the soulmates, Harry and Draco, being kept apart for her own fiendish amusement. I am attempting to rectify that. I know better than to try and make any money off of it. (Who would pay me, anyway?)

**Warnings:** Dark!Harry in this chapter, a little bit.

**A/N:** While this story will normally be updated less frequently than my others, I've been in a depression lately, and it was simply easier to write a dark story than one that I know will end happily. While I still want this one to have a happy ending, the uncertainty makes it an easier candidate.

* * *

_In the end  
As we fade into the night  
Who will tell the story of your life?  
And who will remember your last goodbye?  
Cause it's the end and I'm not afraid  
I'm not afraid to die._

_In The End – Black Veiled Brides_

* * *

_~ Flashback ~ December 22nd, 1996 ~_

"Harry mate, come on; you've been reading since you got here – it's time to take a break! You're worse than Hermione was before OWLs! Let's play a game of chess!"

Harry scowled at the glamoured book he was reading. He didn't know what made him angrier – that Ron refused to leave him alone despite the fact that he'd made it very clear he wanted to be left in peace, the interruption when he was in the middle of an important section of the book, or the unintentional reminder of the day that Sirius had died. Even the fact that part of him wished he could just put the books away and enjoy spending time with his friend over Christmas hols made him angry. Angry because he was trying to protect Ron by distancing himself from the redhead and he was making it so hard, and angry because he knew it was selfish to want to be close to his friend anyway, and selfish to long for the days when he goofed around rather than focused on his responsibilities.

He gripped the pages of the tome tighter and tried to ignore his first friend. It was for the greater good.

"Harry, I hate to say it, but I think that Ron's right. I know you're upset about Sirius, but you can't close yourself off like this. It isn't healthy."

Harry gritted his teeth. How _dare _Hermione mention Sirius to him?

"What the _hell_ is he doing here?"

Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to look up or acknowledge that he heard Ron in any way.

Things were better this way. For everyone.

"In case you've forgotten, Weasel, my mother joined the Order. There's a meeting today – or were your feeble mental faculties incapable of processing all that information?"

The sneering tone that had been conspicuously absent all term at Hogwarts brought Harry's blood to a slow boil. Dealing with Ron was bad enough. He didn't need Draco bloody Malfoy making his headache worse.

"Listen, Ferret; this is Harry's house, and he doesn't want you here! You'd better get out before I curse you out if you know what's good for you!"

"This is the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Weasel, and I _am_ a Black! If anything, it's _you_ who doesn't belong here!"

"Shut up!"

Harry slapped his book closed with a bang and stared at the two boys with livid green eyes. He fixed them on the blond first, who was lounging against the doorframe of the studying with a look of boredom on his face, though he started blinking under the force of Harry's glare.

"This may be the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Malfoy, but it is _my_ house, and if you can't be civil while you're here I'll throw you out!"

Harry swung around to face Ron, who looked smug and self-satisfied. "_You!_" Ron stumbled back and gaped at him. "Malfoy 's mum is in the Order now; I was part of the decision to accept her and offer them protection, and therefore, they have my permission to be here. If you can't accept that, then maybe _you_ should leave!" The look of pure shock and hurt on Ron's face tore at something in Harry, but he shoved it away and continued.

"It's bad enough that you're always hovering, bugging me when I'm trying to learn things I _need_ to know to win this war, but now you have to start a stupid fight in front of me? If I didn't know any better, Ron; I'd think you _want_ me to lose!"

"_Harry!_"

Harry turned, scowling again. "You're hardly any better, Hermione! I would have thought I could count on you to know how important it is for me to learn all this stuff, but instead you're obsessed with forcing me to talk about my feelings and bringing up Sirius every five minutes as though that could possibly help instead of making everything worse!"

Rage was flooding him now, and even though part of Harry was aware that the Dark Arts he'd been learning in secret were likely what was having this effect on him, that practicing those things would bring the darker parts of himself to the forefront, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I swear," he hissed, looking from one to the other of his two oldest friends. "Sometimes I could just _Lacero_ the both of you!"

Malfoy gasped, and Harry closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose again as he realised what he'd just said.

"_Lacero_ , Harry? What spell is that?" Rather than being hurt and pulling away like Harry had wanted her to, Hermione was asking questions – questions Harry didn't want to answer. Oh, her voice certainly sounded hurt, but her need to know was apparently stronger.

_Why not be honest with them, just for a few minutes?_

Harry opened his eyes and glared at her. "Obscure curse, Hermione. I learned it from the Restricted Section within a fortnight of returning to Hogwarts, and I practiced it in the Shrieking Shack in the middle of the night. It's sort of like a ten second burst of Crutiatus."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She glanced at the book hanging forgotten from his left hand, and whipped out her wand.

"_Detego!" _

The cover shimmered and _When Facing the Dark: Surviving Encounters With Practitioners of the Dark Arts_ faded into _Darkest Black and Deepest Night: A Compendium of Dark Arts_.

"Dark Arts, Harry?" she asked, looking horrified and shocked. "How _could_ you?"

Ron's face went white. "You- you can't go Dark, Harry! You _can't!_" He looked ill.

Harry snorted.

"What, I'm supposed to kill Voldemort with an _Expelliarmus_, then?" He rolled his eyes. "Dark wizards don't fight like Light wizards do. The only ways a Light wizard can best a Dark one are to take the Dark wizard by surprise, to be far more powerful than the Dark wizard or outnumber him, or to take a page out of the Dark wizard's book and fight the same way. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win. Including going Dark."

"You sound like a Slytherin!" Ron sounded like he was going to be sick. The irony of the situation struck Harry as amusing and he chuckled.

"I guess the Sorting Hat was right after all, then."

The other three looked at Harry in bewilderment, and he shrugged, not really caring what they would think of his next admission. _It's not like I'm going to let any of them remember any of this, anyway._

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. I was Slytherin enough to manipulate it into doing what I wanted instead."

Harry felt a moment's smug satisfaction at rendering all three of them speechless.

"I'm done being Gryffindor's Golden Boy. If I'm going to win this war, I'm going to have to use all my Slytherin cunning and 'use any means to achieve my ends.'" He made air quotes as he quoted the Sorting Hat's song from first year.

Hermione's jaw clenched. "I'm going to talk to Dumbledore, Harry. Someone needs to stop you before it's too late!"

Harry threw back his head and laughed; a bitter, jaded sound that stopped her in her tracks.

"Hermione," he gave her a crooked smile. "It's _already_ too late."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he didn't give her a chance. "_Vorto Memoria Animus!_" He flung the spell at her and without even waiting for it to hit its target, turned to cast the charm on Ron before the redhead could react. Harry whirled to cast it on Malfoy as well, but the blond raised a shield and the curse bounced off. He was white-faced as he stared at the Gryffindor. Ron and Hermione stood frozen where they'd been before he cursed them. Harry ignored them for the moment as he stared at Malfoy, wand out and ready to curse at a moment's notice.

"Potter," he whispered, his voice cracking. He wet his lips and cleared his throat. "You don't have to change my memory. I won't – I won't tell anyone. I want you to win, and Merlin knows that I'm not likely to judge anyone for practicing Dark Arts. And I'm certainly not going to hate you for thinking and acting like a Slytherin." He laughed nervously and shook his head. "I actually... I actually respect you more than I did before I learned all that. Granted, that's not saying much since I didn't really respect you before, but still. You actually just managed to earn a little bit of my respect."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell are you on my side in the first place, Malfoy? I would have thought you would be chomping at the bit to become a Death Eater and see me dead."

Malfoy shifted. "The Dark Lord's mad, Potter. I met him. He talked about Marking me, but by then I'd already seen enough to know I wanted no part of it. And Mother..." He paused, looking unsure of how to proceed. "Mother's opinion of Blood Politics has changed over the years. She knew better than to argue with Father or her family over it, but she's actually quite intelligent – she's practically a Ravenclaw, you know – and the research she did on it convinced her that there was no factual basis for the, the prejudices against Mud- Muggleborns."

He made a face. "She hasn't quite convinced me, but Merlin knows just because I don't think they're good enough for our world doesn't mean I actually want them _dead_. And I certainly don't want to be the one doing the killing. But we can't stay neutral because of Father. At least your side won't make us kill anyone, will let me stay out of the fighting altogether, and won't _Crucio_ us anytime you get pissed off at us." He cleared his throat. "Besides, the Dark Lord keeps trying to kill you but he never seems to be able to do it. You seem like a safer bet than he does, and we had to pick a winner."

He shrugged. "It isn't even as simple as wanting to do the right thing. It's self-preservation." He smirked. It was a little shaky, but still managed to be a smirk. "Slytherins."

Harry lowered his wand. "If you ever breathe a word to anyone, Malfoy, I swear I'll make you wish you'd stayed with Voldemort."

Malfoy bobbed his head in a jerky nodding motion. Satisfied, Harry turned to Hermione. He held his wand to her temple, moving it slowly in a counter clockwise motion, and spoke softly into her ear.

"After I told you that you were making everything worse by bringing up Sirius, I said that I was sick of both you and Ron. Your feelings were hurt and you decided to leave me alone to wait until I decide to come to you, as I always do. You decided to leave and get started on your homework for the break. After all, I'm being selfish and stubborn, and you're tired of being taken for granted and treated the way you are. Maybe being alone will be good for me. You'll ignore me until I get over myself."

He stepped up to Ron and repeated the process with his wand, this time intoning slightly different words.

"After I yelled at Hermione, I told you that I was sick of both of you, and it made you angry. You're sick and tired of trying to be my friend while I act like a selfish prat. You've decided to let me be that way, if that's what I want, and maybe when I realise what an awful prick I've been I'll come and apologise. In the meanwhile, you're going to ignore me until I realise that I had no right to take you for granted."

He moved back, quickly recast the glamour on his book, and waved his wand between his two friends. "_Summum Evasissent_."

They blinked, then both glared at him simultaneously.

"I can't believe you, Harry James Potter!" Hermione practically hissed at him. "If you want me to leave – fine! I'm leaving!" She whirled around and stormed off.

Ron scowled at him. "See if I try to act like your best mate anymore! When you're done being an arse, you know where I'll be." He stalked out of the room after her.

Harry nonchalantly headed back to his chair, seating himself and calmly flipping to find his place in his book.

"Why did you do that?"

He glared at Malfoy over the top of his book. "Because I couldn't let them leave knowing what they did."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I know that, idiot. But why that spell? Why make them distance yourself from them?" He sounded genuinely curious, and quite recovered from his uncharacteristic fear of Harry that he'd displayed earlier.

"Because an _Obliviate_ can be detected, whereas that was an obscure Dark spell that would be difficult both to discover and to reverse. I need them to back off, and that spell lets me have some influence over their emotions as well as their memories."

"You know that spell only gives you the ability to suggest emotions to them, right? That they can easily throw off whatever you tell them to feel if they don't want to feel it?"

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm aware." Malfoy arched a brow at him. "They've both just about had it with me, anyway – the only reason they keep trying instead of waiting for me to get over myself on my own is that they know that my godfather died in the Department of Mysteries last term." He forced himself to keep his voice level, but some of the pain bled through anyway. He dropped his eyes back to the page, though he didn't really seem to see the words.

"I'm not going to watch anyone else die. Especially not because of me." His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I've had enough of that for one lifetime."

"What do you mean, watching people die because of you?"

For a moment he debated ignoring Malfoy, then decided the git would probably be more likely to keep his distance if he understood the fate of people who got too close to Harry.

"You know why I can't handle Dementors? Because every time they get close I hear my mother die. She died for me, begging for my life." He looked up at Malfoy to gauge his reaction. The Slytherin looked appropriately shocked. "Cedric Diggory – we reached the cup at the same time, and he told me to go ahead because I would have gotten there first if I hadn't stopped to save him. I was the one who suggested we take it at the same time. When Voldemort saw he had come along with me, he simply said, "Kill the spare," and Cedric was dead. Sirius..."

Harry swallowed, turning to stare into the distance. "I don't know if you've heard or not, but your mother's cousin, Sirius Black, was an innocent man. He was my godfather and I lo-loved him." Harry laughed, sharp and cold. "Voldemort sent me a vision, and like an idiot I believed him. I rushed off, right into his trap in the Department of Mysteries. We were fighting Death Eaters when the Order showed up to help. Bellatrix killed Sirius. He wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me."

Harry shook his head, the bitterness tasting sharp and clear in his mouth. "I'm not interesting in watching anyone else die, especially not if it's my fault, and especially if it's someone I care about."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Potter..." Malfoy's voice was soft. "I'm only ever going to say this once, so listen up. I'm sorry you had such shit luck, and I'm sorry I made things worse when I didn't really know what was going on. But _none_ of that was _your fault._"

Harry looked up at him, startled. Malfoy appeared to be a combination of uncomfortable and compassionate that looked horribly out of place on him. Harry couldn't help it – he began snickering.

"Potter!" An offended look crossed Malfoy's face.

"Sorry," gasped Harry. "But you look – Merlin, you look _constipated!_ I guess it really _is_ painful for you to be nice, isn't it?"

Malfoy wore a strange expression when he said that – if Harry didn't know better, he'd say Malfoy was _hurt_. "Go to hell, you bastard!"

He stormed out, and Harry chuckled for a few moments more, before settling back in to read again. He'd set a monitoring spell to alert him when Snape arrived, since the Order was waiting on him to start the meeting. He also had monitoring spells in place that would record any conversations in the house where his name was mentioned, so that he could play them back later.

He figured that was the only way to be certain he wasn't kept out of anything that he needed to know about. In the meantime, he was reading through the Dark Arts books in the Black library – packing any that he could get away with reading if he was caught, and glamouring and storing the rest.

In a false bottom he'd created in his trunk to hide books he'd snuck out of the Restricted Section, he now had three tomes hidden away that, while clearly Dark, struck him as too important not to read.

He also thought of the handwritten journal he'd found in the farthest corner of the Restricted Section – one sealed against revealing its contents to anyone who could not speak parseltongue. A journal that was written by Salazar Slytherin. He had written about a single theoretical spell he'd created. The journal was simply labelled _Exstinctor Vitum_.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. After Healer Morgan had left, his thoughts swirled around various memories of the last year, of the choices he'd made and things he'd done.

He knew that there would be suspicions about whether he'd used Dark Arts against Voldemort or not, but that _Prior Incantato_ on his wand wouldn't help them. The spell was unknown, and _Prior Incantato_ wouldn't show them the incantation. All it would show would be the effects – which wouldn't match any descriptions of Dark Arts on record.

He could testify under Veritaserum that it was simply an untested spell known to no one else alive. He'd meant to burn the journal before heading into Knockturn, but he couldn't bear to think of destroying that incredible book. Since no one else would ever be able to read it, he couldn't justify going through with it.

Yes, people might wonder if he'd used Dark Arts, but only one would ever know for sure.

Draco Malfoy.

As it had many times since that day over Christmas holidays, the thought that he and Malfoy shared a secret no one else knew made something inside Harry glow warmly. Which made him uncomfortable.

Then again, thinking about Malfoy in any capacity made Harry uncomfortable.

His feelings about Malfoy were... complicated. He'd hated the other boy for so long, yet all the reasons he'd once had to do so were gone.

Malfoy's enmity towards Harry had doubtless started because he was a spoiled, proud child who had been insulted and had his offer of friendship – such as it was – thrown back in his face when Harry had insinuated that Malfoy himself was 'the wrong sort'. It had continued for the same reason, compounded by Harry's retaliations and any added insults to Malfoy's pride along the way, coupled with jealousy. Harry was smart enough to have figured that much out.

Ron had hated Malfoy right off just as much as Malfoy had hated him, and both boys had hated one another for their families' sakes. Both were equally culpable in their mutual animosity.

Malfoy's behaviour towards Hermione was a combination of jealousy over her intelligence and talent, and Blood Politics. And having read _Exstinctor Vitum_ so many times he had nearly memorized it, Harry understood more about Blood Politics than most of the pure-bloods who practiced them. Their prejudices had a logical base, but were woefully misguided.

Salazar Slytherin, for all that he was renowned for hating Muggle-borns, actually did nothing of the sort. He objected to bringing them to Hogwarts because of the risk of exposing the wizarding community to Muggles – but he fully advocated kidnapping Muggle-borns as soon as they were born and having them fostered within the wizarding community.

While he had left a basilisk in a school full of children, she had been intended to stay as a protector, and had been corrupted by years alone in the dark followed by meeting a descendant of her master who twisted her from her original purpose. Having read the man's journal, Harry was quite certain that Slytherin would have been deeply saddened and shamed by Tom Riddle.

He had researched the origins of magic itself, and wrote his findings in _Exstinctor Vitum_. He had found a grimoire written by Merlin, which held the key to magic itself. Salazar's work in _Exstinctor Vitum_ was drawn from Merlin's own discoveries. While he wrote the location of Merlin's grimoire in the journal, Harry had not had the opportunity to search for it.

The crux of things was that Muggles and wizards were different species – just as Veela and wizards were different species. Closely related enough to intermarry and reproduce, and closely related enough that simple genetic mutation could result in a Muggle-born, but still separate.

While Merlin had not thought any less of Muggles for it, Salazar had despised them. He saw their only usefulness as being the ability to provide a fresh crop of Muggle-borns. While he fully supported the notion of pure-bloods marrying Muggle-borns and half-bloods, the very idea of a witch or wizard marrying a Muggle was, in Salazar's opinion, an insult to magic itself. Muggle-borns he had valued only because half-bloods were either as powerful or more powerful magically than the average Muggle-born or pure-blood, but never weaker.

Conversely, Squibs were only ever born to pure-blood families – a reverse of the genetic mutation that led to Muggle-borns. Granted, a witch or wizard who married a Muggle could have a child who was a Squib, but that was because one parent was completely non-magical. It was only less prevalent than it would have otherwise been because the genetic component of magic was usually strong enough to overpower Muggle genes.

Centuries before DNA and genetics had been discovered by Muggles, Salazar, like Merlin before him, had mapped the wizard genome and compared it with that of Muggles. Harry itched to read more about magical genetics. He realised as he lay there that that would be the first thing he did once he was released from St. Mungo's – hunt down Merlin's grimoire and follow in Salazar's footsteps.

It wasn't just about understanding magical genetics. It was about understanding magic itself. While new spells and potions could be invented without that knowledge, it was a long, complicated process that involved a great deal of trial and error. According to Salazar, once you truly understood the nature of magic, you could quite literally do anything with it. That was the true secret of Merlin's power.

Salazar had intended to establish himself as the second Merlin, once he'd completed his research – but obviously he'd died before he was able to do so. Harry thought it ironic that the only wizard alive who could read his notes and follow in his footsteps was too ill to live long enough to see Slytherin's dream fulfilled. He resolved to discover as much about the nature of magic as he could and share as much knowledge of Slytherin's and Merlin's with the wizarding world as was safe. Too much, and there was the possibility of someone creating a spell similar to _Exstinctor Vitum_.

He had performed enough of the spells and experiments in Salazar's journal to confirm the validity of everything he'd read. Salazar wrote of Merlin's findings and Harry felt a small fission of excitement as he thought of testing Merlin's writings the way he'd tested Slytherin's.

It would be too dangerous to share everything Merlin had discovered with the whole wizarding world, since that could potentially lead to someone uncovering the secret to _Exstinctor Vitum_, but Blood Politics and wizarding genetics were only a small component of that, and it would be safe enough to unveil those without risking the rest of it.

Harry smiled. At least he could do some good before he died, then, if he could end blood prejudice. Oh, he knew it wouldn't disappear overnight, but if he transcribed the information on wizarding genetics along with the relevant spells and experiments to prove everything, it would certainly cause an enormous shift in thinking in the wizarding world.

His mood lightened, Harry turned his thoughts to the visitors waiting to see him. He had pushed everyone away over the last year, both because he didn't want any distractions from preparing to face Voldemort, and because he felt it would hurt them less if he died if they weren't as close.

While he no longer needed to avoid distractions, he was still going to die. It wouldn't be fair to any of them to rebuild their relationships with him only to hurt them later. He wouldn't refuse to see any of them outright, not while he was still in the hospital, but he intended to alienate them as much as possible once he was released. Which, if he had his way, would be today.

Harry called for Healer Morgan. He would find out who was waiting to see him, and decide who he would speak to first.

* * *

"Hello, Harry."

Harry gave a tight smile to the man who had entered his room. The shabbily dressed man's careworn face lit up when he saw Harry awake, and when he spoke his voice was so filled with warmth and obvious relief that Harry's heart clenched.

"Hello Remus."

Remus crossed the room in quick strides and pulled Harry into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Don't _ever_ do anything that foolish again! I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Harry!"

Harry's breath hitched. The bands around his heart squeezed impossibly tight and for a moment he didn't think that it was possible for him to breathe.

Remus was one person he'd been unable to distance himself from no matter how hard he tried. The werewolf latched on to Harry as the last remaining member of his pack and refused to let go. Nothing Harry said or did made a difference – Remus loved him absolutely and unconditionally, and in many ways Harry treasured Remus more than he had anyone else in his life.

Harry had been forced to accept that he couldn't make things easier on Remus by pushing him away, and would have to hurt him when he died. It broke his heart all over again to realise that this would still be the case.

Over the last year, when Remus was one of his private teachers, they had spent more one-on-one time together than Harry had ever spent with any other adult over the same time period. They'd been drawn together by their mutual grief, and the thought of how it would affect Remus when he lost Harry as well made Harry want to cry.

He simply clung to Remus and made the understatement of his life. "I'm sorry – I never wanted to hurt you." His voice was hoarse with unshed tears.

Remus buried his face in Harry's neck. "You're all I have left, Pup. You can't leave me, too."

Harry closed his eyes as guilt welled up inside him. "I'm sorry, Remus. I'm so, so sorry."

They cried together for a little while, but when Remus pulled back he was obviously relieved and happy, believing Harry was going to be fine. Harry didn't know how to break it to him that that wasn't the case.

He cast around for something he could say that wouldn't be lying.

"Remus, do you know how to recast a Fidelius Charm?"

Remus blinked, clearly not having anticipated the question. "I know the theory, but I'd have to look it up to know more. Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I want to recast the Fidelius on Grimmauld Place, and only allow a few people in. The Order doesn't need it anymore, and I have a right to privacy. I was hoping... I was hoping you'd be my Secret Keeper."

He bit his lip, looking at Remus anxiously.

Remus cleared his throat. "I'd be honoured, Harry. Though... wouldn't Dumbledore be a better choice?"

Harry scowled. "I don't want him in my house. In fact, if you won't give me your word not to tell him the Secret, I won't even use you for my Secret Keeper."

At the flabbergasted and confused look on Remus' face, Harry realised that Remus' reluctance to make that kind of promise was pretty much a given. After all, Dumbledore had done a great deal for him.

"It's alright, Remus," he sighed. "There's someone else I can use, anyway." He cast around for someone who he could ask, who wouldn't be willing to share the Secret with people who asked unless Harry said it was alright. A thought occurred to him and he snorted in amusement.

"Oh?"

"Malfoy." Remus looked shocked.

"Malfoy?"

Harry nodded. "I mean, I might have a hard time getting him to tell the people I want to have access to the house, but he certainly won't be pushed into sharing it by people who think they have a right to be there whether I want them there or not. I don't want many people there, anyway. He'll probably get a kick out of knowing that he has the power to deny people the right to visit me. Plus, he doesn't really like me so he won't be coming around all the time and bugging me. No one would suspect it's him. He's perfect."

Remus looked a little doubtful, but Harry hugged him again, hard, and Remus smiled.

"I trust your judgement, Harry."

Harry smiled. He found he liked the idea of having Malfoy for his Secret Keeper. While he had spent the last year trying to convince himself that the reason he was so obsessed with Malfoy was that the Slytherin was up to something, the reasons for suspecting such a thing grew more and more tenuous as time went by.

Harry refused to acknowledge why, then, he obsessed over Malfoy, if the little ferret wasn't up to anything. That line of questioning led to uncomfortable notions he'd much rather not entertain.

Especially since he was dying. There was no point in sorting out his feelings when he wouldn't be alive to continue having them for very long.

Harry suddenly felt very young and vulnerable.

"Will you take me home, Remus?"

Remus smiled. "Sure thing, Pup."


End file.
